Biker's Baby: Devil's Wings MC

by Nicole Fox

Princess sighed. That seemed to be her deciding point.

  “Minghelli …” She started. “Minghelli is after something he thinks the daughter of Sam Michaels’ has. I suppose he thought Venus Michaels had it first, because his men broke into the Berth of Venus, and when … and when she didn’t turn it over, they killed her.”

  Her voice broke on her final words. I saw tears glistening in her eyes even as she fought to hold them back. Somehow, I was touched.

  “Wow, Princess,” I said. “I didn’t realize you cared so much. Venus must have been a great Madam.”

  Princess nodded. “She was the best, even if … others didn’t appreciate her. Her whores were always well-fed, well-clothed, well-paid, and protected to the best of her abilities.”

  She scowled suddenly, and then continued, as if speaking to herself, “And I thought Honi knew that!”

  There was that name again. Honi. I assumed it applied to the woman calling herself Farrah Michaels, but I couldn’t be sure. I wanted to press and demand Princess answer me, but I held back. She was, at long last, answering my questions. Best not to push it, I thought.

  “So what…what does Farrah Michaels have, then?” I asked gently. “What did Venus Michaels die to protect?”

  Princess sighed, and then, to my surprise, nestled her face in my shoulder. “I can’t tell you,” she murmured. “It’s too dangerous … not just to Farrah Michaels, but to Tom Minghelli himself.”

  “A danger to Minghelli!” I gasped. “Christ! What the fuck could it be?”

  She didn’t answer, but instead buried herself deeper against my body. Her hand found my chest, and then worked its way slowly downward, finally pressing against the bulge in my pants. I sensed she was trying to distract me, but … hot damn! A man could use a little distraction.

  “All right, Princess,” I growled. “Take your clothes off.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Farrah

  As I slipped my hand down between his legs, I knew my intention was obvious. He would see right through it. The question was. would that stop him?

  Apparently not.

  Within seconds of touching his crotch, I felt hardness growing there, and an instant later he was ordering me to take off my clothes.

  All right, Farrah, I thought. You can do this. It was all part of my master plan to keep him off his game, distracted from what I was trying to hide…

  Screw it. After last time, I really wanted to fuck him again.

  I stood, feeling giddily like the whore I was, and began unbuttoning my top. As I did, I started to do a little dance, swaying my hips sexily and inserting myself between his knees. He leaned back, knowing he was in for a strip tease, and grinning smugly because of it.

  My shirt came free, revealing my lacy new bra, stolen from President Montengo. I had to say, even though the guy disgusted me, he still had decent taste.

  Still swaying to imaginary music, I leaned down and pressed my tits against Connor’s face, letting the pale flesh of them flit across his stubbly chin, his searching lips. He reached out, cupping the back of my thighs right where they meet my butt, and began searching inward.

  “Ah!” I moaned slightly, feeling warmth blossoming from his hands as they pushed, even through fabric, against the crook of my legs. Connor’s smile broadened.

  Feeling frisky, I spun around, offering him a view of my back as I bent over and slid my skirt and panties off as tantalizingly as possible. I felt his hot breath against my skin, and he began groping me immediately.

  “Enough of this!” he grunted, seizing me by the hips and whirling me to face him. “Ride me!”

  He shifted back on the bed, offering me his lap even as he fumbled with his fly. Within a second, his cock was out, enormous and so hot I could feel the heat radiating off of it. I went to mount him, but Connor’s impatience had grown. Rather than waiting for me, he simply grabbed me, lifted me straight up into the air, and brought my right down on that turgid, rock-hard cock.

  “Argh!” I cried, half in pain and half in pleasure as the size of his erection tore into me. My tits rubbed against my lacy bra and I felt wetness flooding my insides, struggling to take him in.

  “Come on, bitch,” he muttered, yanking at the bra and popping a nipple into his mouth. I moaned again, feeling the warmth and wetness spread, and the strong muscles of my pussy relaxing enough to take him balls deep.

  “Good whore,” he said, and thrust. Pleasure exploded through my body, blinding me, and I rocked back so far that if he hadn’t clasped me firmly to him with his hand, I would have fallen off.

  “Ride, bitch! Ride!” he ordered, and I had no choice to comply. I flexed my thighs, lifting my body off him on the drop right back down again, feeling the massiveness of his cock with every downstroke. I seized onto his shoulders, using them for balance and leverage as I reared up and down again, relishing the length of him.

  “Show me your skills, whore,” he grunted, whipping off my bra and burying his face in my tits.

  And I obeyed.

  I changed my rhythm, working the head now instead of the length of his shaft. Concentrating with all my might, I squeezed my pussy muscles tight and pressed them against his tip so that the pressure as he entered me was enormous. He groaned. I felt him kneading my ass, digging his fingers into the sensitive skin of my hips.

  “Oh, yeah!” he grunted. I drew myself all the way up, so that only the arrowhead of his tip was inside me, and then I dropped down with all the force I could muster.

  “Christ!” I screamed, feeling my sudden orgasm ripple through me. Wetness flooded along his dick, soaking his balls, and he grabbed me and held me there. His dick was fully immersed inside me. So deep. Impossibly deep! At last, he let me go, and I slid off him, overcome with pleasure.

  He flung me to the bed. I expected him to drive inside me once more, but instead he got down on his knees and smiled. “A good whore like you deserves some fun, too,” he said, and then kissed me right between the legs.

  “Connor ...” I moaned. It was a softer, gentler pleasure than the raging orgasm he had just given me, but it was all the nicer for it. He was giving my pussy time to recover. With his tongue, he explored the soft pink folds of my being, swiveled the tip of it around my clit, and leaned in even closer to suck, like he was enjoying a candy.

  I closed my eyes, letting myself be swept away by his attention. His hands crept up my body and closed upon my breasts as he ate me out, so that every part of me was lit up with overwhelming pleasure. I was astonished. I knew that Connor could be rough and dominating, but I never imagined him taking the time to pleasure me like this. Why should he bother? I was his whore.

  “W-why …” I struggled to ask him, too busy cumming to talk. He smiled, though, and seemed to catch my meaning.

  “Because I wanted you to be wet enough for this,” he said, and then lifted me from the bed.

  We stood, my back to his chest. One of his hands fastened against my thigh, pinning me in place against him. The other hand seized my hair and forced me, with one violent shove, to bend over.

  I felt his cock pressing against my butt. Hell, it practically reached all the way up my back!

  He spread my cheeks wide. I felt his tip pressing against the opening of my pussy, but he did not enter. Instead, I felt the wet, throbbing hot presence of his cock shift upward, and press against adifferent hole.

  “Wait a minute!” I protested. “I don’t …”

  He ignored me. “Good slut,” he murmured. “Ready?”

  He didn’t wait for me to answer.

  With a slow, relentless thrust, he entered me.

  “Ah!” I cried, astonished by the sensation of pain so deep inside me, where I had never felt pain before. I felt my eyes water and tried to pull away, but Connor held me there, gently rocking, forcing himself further and further inside me.

  I opened my mouth to holler, to beg and plead for him to stop, but then, after about fifteen seconds, something amazing happened.

  The
sense of foreignness and pain melted away, to be replaced by a hot, glowing pleasure.

  “Oh, yeah …” I moaned, my muscles relaxing and finally permitting him to enter me all the way.

  “You like that?” he growled, brushing my hair from my eyes. “Yeah, I knew you would, you slut. You fucking whore. You think you can distract me? I knew what you were doing, you slut, and now you’re gonna pay.”

  He increased his tempo. I screamed in pain, feeling as he reached new depths. To my amazement, I felt my g-spot responding. He was hitting it from the other side. I had never felt pleasure like that before. Imagine, all your life having an itch, and only just now were you able to scratch it.

  My tits bounced. My arms flailed. I felt each impact of his hips against my butt, sending ripples of force down my whole body. I closed my eyes, feeling them leak water, but I wasn’t in any pain. It was a depth of pleasure I’d never imagined was possible. It was eating me up, consuming me till I was nothing but a hot coil enveloping the dimensions of his cock.

  “I’m gonna cum in your ass,” he grunted, his hands leaving red prints all over my butt and thighs. He reached around me and pinched my breasts, and I felt my orgasm spilling over. My vision blotted out, and the only perceptions I had outside of his fucking were the changing rhythm of his grunts as he built himself to burst.

  “Yes!” I heard him roar, and I felt him finish inside me. It was incredible, like being dunked in one-hundred degree water, heat spreading from between my legs all the way to my fingers and my toes.

  His pumping slackened. Distantly, I felt myself coming back to my own awareness. I noticed that parts of me—the skin of my cheeks, my hips, my breasts—stung with overuse, but the steady throb of pleasure was still central inside me. He pulled out, and I heard him stepping to the shower nearby.

  “Clean yourself up, Princess,” he said after stepping out, holding the curtain for me. Gratefully, I stepped inside and let the warm water pour over me. It only increased my sense of warm, contented pleasure.

  Nearby, Connor toweled himself off. I noticed him watching me shower with a grin as he dressed.

  Then he went to the door, and, careful to hide its code, unlocked it. What he said next made all my pleasure vanish in an instant.

  “I’m going to the compound,” he said. “We’re going to rescue your friend. Maybe she’ll tell us what’s going on.”

  Slam! Before I could respond, the door cracked shut behind him.

  I closed my eyes, fighting back the despair that was taking over me. First Aunt Venus … then Honi … now Connor. Are the Minghellis’ going to take everyone from me?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Connor

  “I will find out what’s going on,” I swore to myself over and over. Princess’s actions earlier that day only made me more stubborn than ever. What would she be willing to self herself so dearly for?

  Not that she didn’t like the sex, I thought smugly. Obviously, she liked it.

  Christ, her body was like the best I’d ever had.

  Still, I needed to focus and get Princess out of my head. I had to acknowledge that she had managed an annoying permanence there that pissed me off.

  Still, the way her tits bounced …

  Focus, Connor!

  Joey and I had agreed that taking only light arms would make us as quiet and mobile as possible. We equipped ourselves with small handguns and several switchblades. The rest of the Devil’s Wings joining us followed suit, though we gave a semi-automatic to one. He would be the cavalry, waiting outside if things got really bad.

  Like most bikers I knew, we talked and made bawdy jokes the whole time. Not one of us discussed just how dangerous the mission actually was.

  A raid on the fucking Minghelli family! Princess was right to be concerned. For a moment, I thought about bringing her, but decided against it. This wouldn’t be some pimply teenager with a broken bottle. These would be professional thugs, armed and brutal.

  Plus, I knew how the Minghelli family treated whores. About the same as the Devil’s Wings, actually.

  Night fell. Me and the other guys waited in the meeting room for midnight, smoking and playing cards. Maps of the Minghelli compound (stolen from online) were splayed out on the table, but people had stopped looking at them long ago. There was only so much you could cram inside your head, then it was just pointless.

  At last, a clock chimed somewhere. We were ready.

  Joey, two other Devil’s Wings, and I mounted our bikes. Paul, the guy with the semi-automatic, climbed into a nondescript black sedan along with another man. Many bikers looked down in disdain on such cars, but I knew they were important. It was easier to shoot from the back of a car, and who knew how many wounded we might have to take back? Who knew what state Honi would be in when we got to her?

  I was surprised to realize that I was officially thinking of the girl as “Honi.” I guess I’d finally made up my mind. She and Princess’s lies only made me more determined.

  We took off.

  Joey and I went north. The other biking pair went south. The black sedan went east. We would all converge in the middle, joining right at the same time but without the conspicuousness of traveling together.

  It was a clear night. The moon was high, full, and beautiful above us. I cursed it. It would make us easier to spot.

  The Minghellis had a number of different places as their strongholds. Restaurants, a taxi station, even a laundromat. But we believed that Honi would be held at the Minghelli estate itself, a gothic, sprawling architectural wonder from a different age. I had only seen it once before, and my first impression was that somehow it had been teleported from old Europe itself. And that had been in daylight. Now, as we pulled up to it, bathed in starlight and nestled in a mountainside, I expected to see German aristocrats in flowing, fur-lined robes emerging from its ornately carved doors.

  But this wasn’t a gothic horror story, and we weren’t in Europe. This was America’s own brand of aristocrats: the Minghellis, top mob family for four generations.

  Joey and I killed our engines before we got to close. Then, dressed all in black leather to hide us in the night, we crept forward, pushing our bikes with us for an easy getaway.

  A crackle of our walkie-talkies let us know that the other groups had arrived. The black sedan would wait on the east side, in the estate’s shadow, entirely hidden in black darkness. The second pair would approach from the back. Joey and I would be approaching from the most dangerous side, the west, bathed in moonlight.

  “You ready?” I murmured to Joey, drawing my gun.

  “Yup,” he whispered back, following suit. “Man, we are in way over our heads.”

  I had to admit he was right. Now, standing before this place, symbol of all the Minghellis’ wealth and power, I felt more and more outclassed.

  But that doesn’t matter, I told myself. A good biker is made by his guts and his brain, not by the class of bike he rides.

  That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway.

  We saw no guards. The Minghellis were confident. That can be used to our advantage, I realized.

  There was a window not far from us. I gave Joey a nod, and together we darted for it, keeping to the shadows of the old oaks and rose hedges that dotted the estate’s lawn. It was the other team’s job to cut the alarm system. Holding our breaths, we waited until the crackling confirmation came over the walkie-talkie.

  “Done!” We heard, and we prepared to enter.

  Once we were up against the window, I took the bottom of the heavy glass pane and pushed upward. Nothing. Just the slightest shift. Of course, it was locked. Resigned to breaking it, I raised my fist until Joey hissed, “Wait!”

  “What?”

  “It moved just a bit. If I can get a screwdriver in there, maybe I can shift the latch.”

  “You brought a screwdriver?” I asked in disbelief, but Joey chuckled.

  “Of course I did,” he said. “I got a wrench, some wire cutters, duct tape, and ev
en a blowtorch in my trunk. Come at me, bro!”

  Of course, I didn’t. I was glad Joey was so prepared.

  As he said, I hoisted the heavy glass pane once again, and, with some wrenching and wriggling, Joey was able to slip the narrow bar of the screwdriver underneath the gap. A long minute passed, with me sweating to hold the ancient window up, and Joey muttering swear words to himself. At last, I heard a grinding click, and Joey yanked the screwdriver out in a flash.

  “All right,” he said. “Now try.”

  I took a deep breath, placed my hand carefully on the glass so I wouldn’t break it, and pushed.

  With a muffled groan, the window slid open.